


The Call on Mallory

by AdmiralOptimus



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alaskan AU, American AU, F/F, Local PD AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:11:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdmiralOptimus/pseuds/AdmiralOptimus
Summary: In this AU, Eve is a local low-ranking police officer in a (fictional) Alaskan town, working her way to detective. Oksana is a "mysterious" figure from her past, an assassin turned bounty hunter. When Eve makes a horrific discovery, she reluctantly relies on Oksana for help to solve, and survive, a case unlike any she's seen before.





	1. Chapter 1

It was coming up on noon when I got the first call about Mallory Creek. I remember being in a rush when I picked up the phone. My break was starting in a minute. I wanted lunch. I was ready to get the caller off the phone as soon as possible. The majority of calls directed to my desk were dull. I mean, deeply dull. Elderly citizens complaining about loud music from the warehouse regularly used for teen parties or a prank calls from said teens. I had a few valid calls over the last 4 months that I’d been working here- a woman called about her missing young toddler, she was found a few blocks from her home, she’d followed a dog, and I got all too many calls about domestic abuse. Neighbors complaining about the shouting next door or the wife with the bruised face. A few weeks back we’d arrested a rapist. Some sick fuck picking on high school girls. Nevertheless, on a saturday afternoon, when I’d been sitting down for three hours and heard a large multitude of complaints about how the police system runs (I’m required to file those, so yes, I have to listen) and got a call from some guy about a car parked in his driveway (not our division,) so yeah, I was not exactly expecting anything dramatic on the other end. You could hear this in the clip that my managing officer was listening too, analyzing. 

“You’ve reached the Gridloch police department, this is Officer Polastri speaking.” 

“Yes, I’ve found something.” 

It was a male voice, deep, corrupted by static.

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“Yes, I think it’s a body.”

“Can I get your name?”

“Name?”

“Yes, your name.”

“Why do you need my name?”

“Sir, it’s proto-”

“It’s in Mallory Creek, it’s near the bridge.”

“Sir-”

The line cut short. Officer Hans looked up at me. He was my managing officer. His choice on whether I pursued this or not. I'd brought the tape to him after the call, hoping he'd understand my hestitance. 

“Well?” He said. “Go check if there's a body.” It was now half past twelve. By the time I got back, lunch break would be long gone. “Look, Bradbury, it’s probably a hoax. Some kid who thinks he’s funny, sending a cop out there and all that, not giving his name or nothing. Still. Protocol. Could be legit. Check it out.” I sighed. 

I sighed. This wasn't my first call about a body. Once, some old lady on Cherriwald St thought a neighbor’s trash bags was a body. Before that, some kids half-buried a dummy and called it in. Sure, we had a few murders in town. All domestic, though. Lovers quarrels turned violent, cheating spouses, that sort of thing. The only thing constant about our station were the missing posters on the corkboard in the front waiting room. A hiking trail passed right through, following the Pacific coastline and rivers. In Alaska, some hiker was eternally missing. We kept up all posters from the last ten years with leads. Any older than that no leads, those get put in a different corkboard in the back, by our desks, the faces of the long lost watching us and we scrambled to find those who were doomed to join them. Most missing persons were not even our division. They fell under search and rescue mostly, but still, we keep up the flyers. I dream about looking into the eyes of someone in the farmers market and recognizing them someday. A missing person who just moved on, not some mangled corpse under a chunk of ice deep in the mountains. 

I used to spend weeks looking for these poor souls. 

Our own coastline semed eternally snow and ice coated, though today it was sweltering. Our creek, Mallory, the one where the alleged body was found, is fed by this massive glacier from the North. A couple of years back there was this huge avalanche. The creek has been crammed full of snow and ice ever since, less creek and more snow bank. For the last few months, though, we’ve had water trickling through. A couple locals have been bottling it up and sending it to rice assholes who will pay loads for genuine Alaskan fresh water. I could fine them, I sincerely doubted they had a permit, but honestly, if they’re willing to spend hours in frigid knee deep water and get money from the 1% for it? I take no problem to that. 

I headed out to the cruiser. We had about seven, all parked in a row. Two or three were out, hunting some bad drivers or maybe some drunks. I pulled into the warm car. It really was a hot day out, really sweltering. The weather channel said it was 72 whole degrees out today. Hottest day I’d seen in a while. It certainly was the hottest summer seen in Gridloch since the 80's. I didn't even have my police coat on, much less the branded parkas we wore most of the year. I slid into the cruiser and started it up. The fake leather seats burned at the touch. 

I'd only moved here six months ago. I'd only started getting cases four months ago. So far, none had been legit. I'd worked homicide, er, elsewhere, for years. Starting over in the most remote place that I could find had it's drawbacks. 

I pulled up to the creek, parked near the bridge that the caller had mentioned. I slipped on my snow boots. It might be sweltering out, but the Mallory ice was nearly impenetrable, always stacked high in the creek basin for years. I could see ankle deep footprints all across the area under the bridge. This was pretty typical. Kids had managed to carve a sort of ice-cave down there. It's where teenagers got high after chemistry tests or honestly, whenever they felt like it. I gave up busting them by my second week. 

Under the bridge, just beyond the ice cave, was this large heap of ice and snow, not unlike the rest of the creek basin. I walked, cautiously, out towards it. I could see a pair of large footprints. Maybe the caller's? I stopped as the footprints ended. The ice around me was slick with water, melting away under the harsh sunlight. In the ice bank in front of me, a dark shadow seemed to be hiding just under the now thin ice. I stepped closer and gasped. A face stared back at me. I pulled out my radio, hands shaking. 

"Er, Officer Hans?"

I seemed to have forgotten protocol. I couldn't remember the code for finding a body.

"This is Officer Polastri. I've got a body up in Mallory Creek."

The radio crackled to life. 

"A body?" 

"Yes sir."

The radio went silent. Officer Hans' voice came back. 

"Secure the scene. Sending all available Officers." 

I stood over the body, over the barely visible face of this person, this kid, for crying out loud. My stomach twisted as I realized I recognized the face. The brown hair, the nose, the dead eyes. 

It was one of the missing hikers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this one’s short! I’ll make the next chapter extra long to make up for it.

I sat on the hood of my cruiser, a little shell shocked. It wasn’t my first time finding a body, not at all, I just never expected to find one here. Gridloch was a town barely big enough to need its own police force. The only reason it made the cut was due to it’s massive trading port a few miles down the road. It was a hub for all sorts of illegal activity. Maybe five years back there was a massive drug bust connecting back to some cartel in Nicaragua. 

Still, seeing that face under the ice, so close to a place where families pass by, where I pass by, on a regular basis was shocking. I felt movement on the hood and looked up. Elena was scooting up next to me. 

“Hey, Eve. How ya doin’?” 

I smiled. “I’m just fine. Little surprised, that’s all.” 

Elena smiled a little too. “We haven’t had this much excitement in well, years. We haven’t had a foreigner drop here in ages. Especially that attempt to hide the body. They reckon he’s been down there a few months.” 

I shuddered. I’d moved here to get away from alll that. I needed a local touch. Suddenly, a cry went up from the creek basin. 

“There’s two bodies!”

Everyone on the scene rushed over, abandoning half-filled out questionnaires and the crowd still trapped behind the yellow tape.

The second body was clear in the snow. As they had started scene excavations, it looked like the second body had been revealed after a chunk of had-packed snow had fallen away. 

Jenny, the forensics intern was standing over it. She looked shocked. “I was chipping at the snow around the first body and- well, she just fell out.” 

Even my managing officer looked shocked. “Check the scene for anything else. Forensics, take your photos fast. I want the bodies taken to the mourage ASAP.”  
He turned to me. 

“Eve, go home.” 

“But-“

“I need you rested for tomorrow. It’s alrady past 11:30.”

It was still light enough out that you couldn’t tell. I’d long learned it was useless arguing. 

“Yes Sir.”

At home, thoug, I didn’t sleep. I showered, changed into loose PJ’s, and flipped on the local news. The headline read al I needed to know. 

15 bodies found at Malllory Creek Basin 

“Residents of Gridloch, Alaska, are left shocked after scene of an apparent mass murder turned up in the center of the trading outpost-“

I turned it back off, running my fingers through my wet curls. 

I was hunting a serial killer. 

Again. 

Fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

I sat on the edge of my bed, the tv quiet, the air cool. My apartment was silent, an unusual occurrence. I looked to the glowing clock next to my bed. It was 3 am, though by the light outside, you couldn't tell. I got up, stretching my legs, and walked to the thick black out curtains, peeling them back. The light kind of shocked me, filling the whole room all at once. I looked out over my street view. I had a great view, all things considered. I guess that was a pro of getting a fourth floor apartment. Roofs sloped at the same angle, perfect for removing snow in the winter, and just beyond all the roof tops and empty streets you could see the blue of the ocean, crowded by ships and containers. 

I tapped my fingers. I knew why I couldn't sleep. I so wanted to grab by laptop, rig up the printer, use my old contacts, start filling psych evaluations and analyzing crime scene photos. It was a morbid curiosity, a obsession to understand, a feeling I'd gotten to know all too well. I rapped my fingers faster. Last time I gave in to those compulsions, well, I ended up moving here. I ran my fingers through my hair again. It wasn't my job to research these murders, these fifteen murders, holy shit, I was a beat cop now, for christs sake, I'd really started over, and ight now my job was to sleep. 

I closed the curtains again and flopped down in bed. I closed by eyes. My brain wasn't fucking complying, automatically running through scenarios. Is there a connection between the victims? Age? Race? Not gender, that second body was a woman. All hikers, maybe? Or college students? Maybe they all stopped at the same rest stop, bt no, there had to be more than that. Fifteen people. Maybe an assassin? I rolled over, opening my eyes. This is what made me such a good agent before, you know. Sure, I was compulsive as shit, but I figured it out. Covered every angle. 

Not an assassin. They'd be cleaner than this. Now, this crime screamed of compulsion, of impulse and planning and obsession all at once. I closed my eyes again. Nope, we're not thinking about this tonight. We are NOT gonna beautiful minds this case. This case will be handled with cold evidence, not hunches, not obsessive binders. God, did I really make a compilation binder last time? 

I groaned. My brain always did this when I was tired. Blurred together memories and thoughts and ideas and plans and cases. Damn it, I needed sleep if I was going to be sharper tomorrow. I got up again, wandered over to the medicine cabinet. Too-Artificial light bulb on. I screwed off the lid of tylenol pm, tried to crack a pill in half, and of course it instantly fell into 13 different powdery pieces. Fuck. I swallowed a few, dumping the rest down the drain of the sink. Light off. I fell back in bed. It'd take another twenty minutes for the pill to kick in, and my alarm was still set for 7. 

I sighed. Fucking sleep schedules. Stupid Alaskan sun. 

I was awoken all to quickly by a blaring alarm and a pounding headache. When had I fallen asleep? God I felt groggy. Sleeping pill at three am was not my best call. Blearily, I tied my hair back into a messy ponytail. I wandered over to the bathroom, my bare feet sticking to the cold tiles. 

I somehow made it to the station, makeup badly done and coffee in hand. Elena was waiting at the desk across from mine, looking awake, looking actually functional. "God, don't say it was that stupid charcoal diet thing you're on." I said in lieu of greeting. She grinned. 

"It sounds mental, right? This whole diet thing is great though. I'm actually awake for once," she grinned, "And it's not as if the new case in the office isnt adding to that I-actually-want-to-go-to-work-buzz." I groaned. 

"Who'd they assign the case too?" 

"Espinoza."

"God, really? Espinoza?"

"Well, you know, superior officer and all-"

"He's shit though! You know on my first day he-"

"asked you if you did thai foot massages, yeah I know Eve, he's a racist asshole but-"

"But what? He's gonna throw the fucking case. Forget catching out killer, we'll be lucky if the crime scene photos are-"

"Eve"

"Let me finish, if the photos are even printed by-"

"EVE!"

"What, Elena? Is my rant on shit police work boring you?"

Elena pointed behind me. My stomach burned as I turned around. I already knew who would be standing there.

"Fuck, Espinoza, I'm sorry. I'm just tired and a little, er," I looked up at him, his face tense, "you know, deeply shaken by the, er, crime scene yesterday." I hated playing this card, but oh god here was my time to play it. "You know, those dead bodies were really scary." I tried to sound truly shaken. "I felt so, so bad for those people and I'm just worried that we won't find the killer." 

Espinoza smiled. Of course he did. Only an asshole would fall for the scared little girl card. "That's all right, Polastri, just watch your tone from now on. I understand this case must be hard on you ladies." And I'm not kidding here, I'm pretty sure he tried to flip his stupid quiff. "I'm here to tell you to take that witness statement, you know, about finding the bodies. And get a copy of that call too, alright?" I nodded. 

Espinoza smiled, walked off. "Don't worry, you're safe here." 

Elena immediety nearly dove under her desk. "Oh my goooddd," she whispered, giggling. "He fell for the damaged little girl thing hoollyy shit-" I joined her, stifling my laughter. God how I both hated arrogant male cops. So fucking predictable. 

I stood up. "Well, I guess I'd better get that witness statement taken then." Elena burst into giggles again as I stood up, walking towards the front desk. That's when I saw her, my smile dripping off my face instantly. She was hunched lightly over the desk, not in a menacing or scary way, but in a way that seemed both flirty and powerful. There was no other way to describe it. Her honey colored hair was tied back, a little braid running up one side, ending in a loose bun that seemed effortless but was so clearly planned that way. She wore a dark top, tight fitting, but not so much so. Everything about her was like that- not too much, not too little. Just right. She smiled as she saw me, raising a hand in a little way. 

It was Oksana.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I know I promised an extra long chapter but look I also felt like a cliffhanger. Anyways, please comment, and I hope you enjoyed.


	4. Chapter 4

I speed walked to reception, grabbing Osaka by the arm, pulling her away from the receptionist (Dana?) that she was currently flirting with. She grinned as I did so, waving joyfully at the slightly shocked receptionist. 

"Eager, aren't we Eve?" She teased. I blushed, immediately dropping her arm as we entered a empty hallway. She looked just as I remembered. She wore these long loose pants with thing stripes running down the side, heavy black boots that looked both badass and elegant at the same time, and she wore these little dangling silver earrings. I remembered what I had thought the first time I'd seen her. 

"Oksana, what the hell are you doing here?" I asked. "What do you want from me? How did you know I was here?"

She smiled. "Self-centered as usual, Eve. I was nearby. Canada, of course, on a bounty. So many idiot Americans think they can hide in Canada." She scoffed. "Anyhow, I turned on the news, and would you look at that," she dropped her voice low, into a perfect imitation of the gruff american accent that announced the 7pm news, "Fifteen bodies found in small Alaskan town-" her voice switched back to her usual higher russian accent "And would you look at that, Eve Polastri in the background, sitting on a cop cruiser. How sweet. I thought you could use some help here. You know how it goes, the press will come, they'll make fun of, who was it? Espinoza?- for a bit, the investigation will stall, and you will stay demoted."

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "A beat cop, Eve? Really? With your status you easily could've nabbed detective." 

I folded my arms. "So I am supposed to believe that you- Oksana- an assassin-turned-bounty-hunter has flown up to Alaska to help me solve a murder?"

"Murders."

"Sorry, help me solve murders that I'm not even supposed to be solving."

"Oh please, Eve, save me the saint act. You found me, didnt you? When you werent," she made quotation marks with her fingers, "supposed to. If I am to believe that all of a sudden you've gained morals when it comes to career advancement? Please. I know you, Eve." She inched closer to me, her fingers lingering just above me shoulder. "You've been dying to research this one. Dive into cae files and the evidence room and online profiles." She cocked her head to the side, as if analyzing me. "So why haven't you?"

I brushed her hand away. "I chose to start all over again, Oksana. It was a conscious choice to get away from my old M15 unit. It was too much."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "And I do not need your help. Go get your bounty, hunt down some desperate criminal, have your fun. But I don't need you here."

Oksana looked upset for a heartbeat, then smiled again. "Sure, Eve. My advice?"

She leaned close to me, her lips not an inch from my ear. I could smell it, the perfume. Villanelle. "Give in."

She leaned back again, smiled, and seemed to flounce off, her hair bouncing and dangling earrings tinkling. As she left out the front door, she grabbed a peppermint from the front desk. And yes, it was smooth and somehow attractive. Fuck. 

I stayed there in the hallway for a few more minutes, head spinning a little. The smell of the perfume still was in the air. I sighed, rubbing my head. I needed a tylenol.

I went back to my desk. "Who was that?" asked Elena teasingly, one eyebrow raised.

I rolled my eyes. "Old friend." Elena smirked. "One hell of an old friend." I ignored her as I turned on my work desktop computer. God, they were so slow. I so preferred my own laptop at home. As my log in finally processed and Elena was saying something about the new coffee place's croissants as my emails loaded. 

I groaned. Oksana was right, Over fifty, all from press. "Fuucckk. Why can't mass murders be lowkey?" I asked. 

Elena leaned over my shoulder looking at my monitor. "Ooohh, BBC wants an interview. So does Daily Mail? NBC, CNN, damn girl, who knew serial killers would get you all this attention?" She punched my arm and I scoffed. "It's strange, honestly." I said. "The American fascination with murder and crime." Elena rolled her eyes. "I'm not kidding. The fact that Daily Mail, of all things, a celebrity gossip site, wants to interview me because I was assigned to check a potential crime scene is mildly depressing," I looked at my monitor thoughtfully, then looked back at Elena who looked close to laughter. "What?"

"It's no secret that we're fucked up, Eve. But seriously, you're one to talk. You're working towards becoming a homicide detective for christs sake." I took a sip of my now cold coffee. 

"Yeah, you're right." I said slowly. "But really? Daily Mail? We don't even have ID's on all the bodies yet." Elena shrugged.

"They'll have moved on within a week to some father who went psycho and killed his family or some new assassin or what not." Suddenly, she stopped. "Hey, is that what I know your friend over there from?" I looked at her, confused, and a little panicked. I thought part of Oksana's deal was that her past as an assassin was erased from public record in trade for information. Elena swung her monitor towards me. Oksana's grinning face greeted me. 

"You've been holding out on me! Your "old" friend over there is the most famous bounty hunter! She has a blog! And an instagram! I'm a huge fan, I knew I recognized her from somewhere," Elena scrolled down, showing dozens of photos of Oksana pinning down caught convicts, on stakeouts, or doing workouts. "Plus, she's hot." Elena grinned. "She turned bounty hunting into a travel blog too," She said, typing in another website. 

I turned back to my own monitor. "Of course she did." 

Elena looked at me, surprised. "Sorry, touchy subject?" 

I shrugged. "I just hadnt realized she was a social media phenomenon. Not that I'm surprised, of course." 

Elena smirked. "Well, she's quite popular. You should check out her pages. Very woman-in-black-esque." 

I sighed as another email poured in. "Well, she was right about one thing. The whole press thing? Total bullshit." 

I really did need that tylenol.


	5. Chapter 5

That night, I sat in my bed, blackout curtains pulled tight, my laptop in front of me. I felt almost scandalous, invasive, as I typed in her blog name. As soon as I hit search, I had dozens of results. First, her blog. Oksana-does-things. I scrolled through her photos. In one, she wore a snow-dotted parka and sipped hot cocoa. In the next, she had a smiling selfie with a man behind bars. My scroll slowed as I reached the next. She was wearing a sports bra and leggings, beating the shit out of a punching bag. The caption read: training day! with one of those little smiling emojis. I kept scrolling. People seemed to love her posts, especially on her instagram under the same username. In one photo that nearly made my heart stop, she was standing under a street lamp wearing short-shorts, a bra as a top, and a bisexual flag draped over her shoulders. The comments were wild. Men and women alike proposed marriage. Some people just posted those heart eye emojis. One little girl, not over the age of 10, commented a video of herself mimicking Oksana's moves, flying through the air with a kick. Oksana had replied to the video with heart eyes and a little speech about how tough the kid was and gushing over what a terrible role model she must be, with a little apology to her parents. I'd forgotten that she was good with kids. I spent over an hour scrolling through her page, fascinated by this new life she had invented. I'd even looked up her alias. Villanelle. Did you know that was a type of poem? Nineteen lines. Totally complicated to write, apparently. They had a weird ass rhyming sequence. I'd been shocked enough when she got out of prison, instead finding her way into witness protection of sorts. But here she was, her full name online, with enough followers to count as an influencer, living her new lifestyle as loud as possible.

Maybe she was hoping for a little danger. 

I sighed as I closed the tabs to her blogs. Christ, people loved her. There was AO3 fanfiction about her. It was a little paralyzing. I thought that it'd be easy to leave her behind, but she was at the station, on my mind, on my bloody computer. I rubbed my eyes and headed to my closet, fully intending to change into PJs. I ran my fingers over my rows of clothes. most were bland, mostly existing to keep me warm when winter came. Turtlenecks, sweaters, jackets, more layers than I ever knew I'd need, that sort of thing. In the very corner was the clothes. God, the clothes I loved that you'd sent me all those years ago. I touched the fabric of the slim fitting black dress that I'd worn when you broke into my house. God, that was crazy. It'd really only been two years, hadnt it? It felt like so many more. I let go of the dress and hurriedly grabbed my pajamas instead. I was not slipping down memory lane today. I sighed again as I slipped on my pajama top. God, I was sighing a lot recently. When had my life gotten so dully angst filled?

I climbed back in bed, turning my computer towards me. I closed my eyes as my fingers begged to type in the words. My brain had been racing with possibilities all day. I remembered what Oksana had said earlier. She was right. I'd basically flipped off the rules before. I'd researched and planned and discovered before, and it got people killed. It ruined my marriage for crying out loud. I think i may have audibly groaned. God, that was another thing I'd been doing way to often. Groaning. I was about to shut the computer when my personal email binged to life. I had mail that isn't junk, which was rare. Nobody used email anymore. I opened it, not recognizing the address.

"Dear Eve,

What, you thought I was flirting with that receptionist for kicks? I mean, that too, but who else would have your contact information listed oh so near by ;). Anyhow, just checking in. I thought you'd maybe want to talk. This whole invent a new life is one hell of a trip, huh? (Would you look at that, I'm sounding all American now.) It's been fun playing the badass American and chasing down criminals on the run like a globe-trotter, but it gets tiring, you know. At least I used to have an apartment. Home sweet hotel is the name of the game now. Haha. 

Legally, I doubt that I'm supposed to contact you, but what the hell, huh. I'll be around. You found me once. I'm sure you can do it again. In case I didn't sound awkward enough in writing, I guess I should probably close off in an even more awkward fashion now. 

Yours,

X

P.S: Any updates on your newest psycho killer?

I rolled my eyes. I tried to place the X. I mean, I clearly knew this was Oksana writing. Why the X? She had to know there was no way this was anonymous. Then it hit me. So Fucking obvious.

Sorry Baby. X.

I slammed the computer shut, ignoring the feeling in my chest. I was intrigued. Oksana with emotion? 

She was right though. She was as awkward in writing as I was in reality. She seemed so confident in real time. I rolled my neck back, stretching it out as I opened my computer again. I pulled up my old hard drive. Technically, even having that saved was illegal. Confidential documents and all. But Oksana had a point. Maybe I was just waiting for something to break, for something to jump at me to use it. Or maybe I was waiting to get bored. 

My screen filled with updates as I typed in the words. 

Psychology of Mass Serial Killer.

It was time to research. Time to give in. All I needed was a profile. 

And that? That I could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do y'all want less but longer chapters or more chapters more often of this length? Let me know!


	6. Chapter 6

When I was a kid, I used to do math. Yes yes, I know, we all did, school work and all, but I loved it. I mean, the actual mathy bits were total bullshit, I rely totally on my calculator, but I loved that feeling of solving a problem. Having a few pieces and factoring in the variables and following the formula and boom! Mystery solved, x = 76 and y = x * 2. I felt the same way when I worked cases. I'd pour in the information that I had, insert that code of killer, try and decipher what kind of psycho this was. It was almost intoxicating, getting pulled down that road of questions and answers and ideas and facts and statistics and possibilities and crime scene photos, oh god, so many crime scene photos. 

I'd been sitting on my bed for hours, my printer had been hauled to where I usually kept my pillows, and all around me was an array of images, documents. It was a bloody mess, to tell the truth, but it felt like it made sense, pieces were overlapping.

First thing to consider- why would he, or she, but no this seemed like a he- freeze his victims? Usually killers did that out of preservation. They wanted their victims to remain the same, to be able to see them again. But this wasn't the case here- the victims were not easily accessible. They'd been hidden, frozen not to feed the killers need to revisit their faces, but to keep them in a place where they certainly would never be found- under immovable ice. That brings the next question- how had he hidden them so well? How were the victims so deeply engrained into the ice and snow? Had he poured water over them after he put them in their graves? I'd have to take another look once the official reports were done. 

And his victims- I read through every autopsy that came from my printer- how had they all been preserved this well? Some of these missing reports went back, well, nearly a decade. Even under ice, the bodies should have rotted by now. 

Why didnt he put the bodies elsewhere? Literally anywhere else, not in the middle of the only fucking town for miles?

And the bodies- why were they each disfigured differently? Why did some have their throats slit, others had their stomachs ripped open. But the one thing they all had- the letter F was branded on the backs of their necks. Why F? Why the necks? If this had been branding like branding horses or cattle, it would've been their backs. What was the importance with branding? Was it to claim his victims?

And why these victims? Did they just stumble into his path? Lost hikers? But they were of all races, all genders. Males: two black, three hispanic, two white, one white but visiting from France. Women: Six white, three brunettes, two blonds, one black haired, two black, one native American. All different ages too, but most were in their twenties to early thirties. The age that someone would be out hiking in Alaska. One was only 17, one of the girls. 

All of them had been stabbed, too. Massive overkill, and the injuries only seemed to have gotten more and more extreme as his victims grew fresher. He was growing more confident. There were no hesitation marks. Clearly psychopathic, maybe a sadist. He had to be a sadist, stabbing was usually a sexual act, right? But none of the women had been raped. Or had they? The profile never mentioned it. Had they skipped checking?

I had more questions than answers. 

Who was this man? Was he a local? Did I know him?

My mind spuna round dozens of faces. The man who served ice cream, the waiters at Lucas's, the butcher on Keel Lane. 

My mind landed on a face I knew, one not in this investigation. Honey hair, plump lips, those eyes. I physically shook my head. No. Oksana wasn't in on this. She wasn't even supposed to know i was here, and she's not relevant. 

I had to focus on the case. The case. Not her. 

I had to ignore her.


End file.
